


The Unforeseen Future

by mltrefry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: After the battle of Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, EWE, F/M, Hermione is an adult, Hints of romance but not does not happen in this fic, Mentions of Madam Pomfrey - Freeform, One Shot, Severus Snape Lives, age gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:01:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28651689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mltrefry/pseuds/mltrefry
Summary: He felt the steady-ish inflation of his lungs, smelled something medicinal in the air, the sensation of blankets on bare skin, and a hand in his. Small, familiar.Daringly, he opened his eyes.And there she was.
Relationships: Harry Potter - Relationship, Hermione Granger & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 4
Kudos: 65





	The Unforeseen Future

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally released on Tumblr _ages_ ago during a "Snape Lives" event. I'm thinking maybe 2018 as I was still writing _Fate Set Right_ at the time. It's been cleaned up a bit and changed a little since then.

Severus's mouth was dry. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been the first thought his conscious mind had conjured, but there it was. He’d kill for something to ease the parched feeling, and maybe it would help with the pain in his throat. 

Pain. Why was he in....

Then he remembered: The shack, the bloody snake, Voldemort, Potter … her.

Behind his closed eyes, he could clearly recall the trio coming in. Weasley standing off to the side and far enough away that he wouldn’t dirty his shoes with a traitor’s blood. Potter came to his side, speechless, hands hovering aimlessly as though he had no idea if he should put them anywhere on his body. 

Hermione got to work. 

The anti-venom he’d given her in the aftermath of Potter’s being bitten by Nagini, blood replenisher, she pulled them all from her expanded bag and poured them down his throat. 

But it might not be enough.

Bleeding his memories in the form of silver tears, he turned to Potter. “Take them.” He had said. Potter had a vial in his hand, likely from Hermione, and the boy shoved the glass container against his cheek to catch them. As he’d watched, he told the boy what he always thought. “You have your mother’s eyes.” 

Severus had then turned to Hermione, seeing her concentrate on his neck with her wand pointed at it. Her lips were moving, or maybe that had been a trick of his mind? He had lost so much blood, and his world was growing very hazy. Yet he thought he heard her humming. He couldn’t be sure, but as the darkness closed in, he whispered, “look at me.”

She shot her eyes to his. Fear. Desperation. He faded to black with Hermione's eyes glittering, looking at him while her mouth never stopped moving as the last image he thought he’d see in his life.

But now he felt the steady-ish inflation of his lungs, smelled something medicinal in the air, the sensation of blankets on bare skin, and a hand in his. Small, familiar. 

Daringly, he opened his eyes.

And there she was.

Much too thin as she had been for months, scratches and cuts on her face, her rat's nest hair matted and awful, but altogether too beautiful.

He didn't know when Hermione had become beautiful to him, not precisely. There were many moments over the last two years that the shift in his mind could have happened, but Severus hadn't been paying attention. He'd been so grateful to have a friend, one who saw through all the masks, both because she was perceptive and because he allowed her. He had selfishly wanted someone to confide in, wanted someone who he knew would know the truth of his allegiance. 

Someone who would at least metaphorically stay at his side when he was painted the villain. It just so happened she remained there physically as well whenever she could.

He must have made a noise because Hermione's eyes snapped to his. With her attention on him, he tried to say her name.

“Welcome back, Sir.” She’d said before he had a chance. 

Severus frowned. 

Sir? No, they were well past that. 

“Don’t try to speak, your vocal cords were quite damaged, and while they should recover fine, it’s best to not strain.” She took a breath. “We won.” She smiled, and he gave her an upturn of his lips in return. “Harry lived, too. I’m not sure how, but he has. All the Horcruxes were destroyed, too, so Riddle's not coming back. We did lose some people. Many students, Fred, Tonks, Remus. I don’t know everyone yet, but … it's devastating. 

“You’ve been out for about three days. Madam Pomfrey insisted you be put in a magically induced sleep for a while, in hopes to recover you completely before you woke, but she didn’t realize how bad your vocal cords were. But in those three days, Harry has made sure you weren’t to be charged. Dumbledore’s portrait confessed what he asked of you. When you finally get to leave this bed, you do so completely free, beholden to no one and nothing.”

He looked around, seeing only the curtains around the bed, and no other clues as to where he was.

“Hogwarts,” She said quietly, answering the question he couldn’t ask. His eyes shot back to hers, and she smiled shyly. “Hence the ‘sir’, and perhaps the odd ‘professor’ when I come to visit. And try not to be surprised if you hear the same sort of respect from Harry. It seems knowing what he does now, he has a fairly healthy bit of respect for you.”

Severus felt the blood drain from his face. He hadn’t been sure he would live, and he knew he didn’t have complete control over the memories that fell from his eyes. What all did Potter know?

“I should also be the bearer of bad news,” She said, and something like a groan escaped his chest. He ran a hand over his face, the action causing the shift from Hermione’s worry to mirthful seem instantaneous. Perhaps it was, she was cheeky like that. “You’re still headmaster.”

He cringed. Did he want to be headmaster? He’d always imagined, had he lived through the end of the war, that he would open an apothecary. Hire someone to man the front so all he had to do was brew. His more fanciful dreams involved research, either in potions or spell creations. Perhaps he could even become an unspeakable? He hadn’t ever imagined he would still be young when this was all over.

But his year as headmaster was not truly his own. He’d had fantasies of how he would run the school, too. It happened when the last man who ran things was utterly lax, had held blatant favoritism for his own house, and a bias against the one in which a bad seed happened to be planted. 

“You don’t have to worry about that now, though,” Hermione said, bringing him back to the moment. “Right now, you need to heal. Regardless if you chose to remain here or not, you won’t be able to either cut them down for the audacity that you should keep your title or acerbically provide them a list of how terribly they’d run things in your absence if your voice doesn’t heal. Quite frankly, the fact that you haven’t been able to mock my appearance has been a bit disheartening.”

He snorted, and she giggled at her own self-deprecation. And blushed. She always blushed when he laughed or came close to laughing. He assumed it was because he made the noise so rarely. 

Hermione chewed her lip a moment before saying, “I’ll need to tell the matron you’re awake. If she sees me in here chatting you up, she’ll have a fit. I’d barely been able to convince her to allow me to stay beside you. I’m sorry, it’ll mean I’ll have to leave for a bit, but I promise I’ll be back.” 

She got up off the bed without letting go of his hand and had headed toward the curtain. He tightened his grip on her fingers before they slipped from his grasp, pulling her to a stop and getting her attention again.

“Thank you,” He mouthed, his breath nearly a whisper.

She froze, then tilted her chin in that way of hers that always preluded either a smart mouth remark or an action that could be deemed either be foolish or brave.

She took a giant step toward him, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “I’m so happy you lived, Severus.”

Before he could rasp or do anything, Hermione was beyond the curtain and calling for the matron.

Severus remained stiff in his bed, his mind blank and racing all at once. He could say and do nothing, but had no idea what he would say or do at that moment anyway. 

Hope was wiggling its way into him, twisting all those dreams of his freedom to include something more. Something Severus hadn't hoped to include in his fresh start until then.

He had a future, and what's more is that there was a possibility that he would have someone to share it with - even if it was merely as dear friends. But his cheek tingled, and he still felt the warmth of her skin on his fingertips. He remembered their conversations, both before she went on the run and after, and knew there was likely a chance that dear friends was something that may only have to last another year before it could become something more.

He was still wondering at the possibilities when Potter trailed over behind Poppy as the matron came in to welcome him back. The boy looked damn near tears, mouth already running as he spewed exaltations as though he hadn't hated the former head of Slytherin for the last seven years.

Severus sneered. Perhaps a fresh start would only apply to certain situations and people.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
